So my book report project is not going well. Similar to high-school I am reading my books and failing to actually report on them. So here are all the books that I have read since my last book report (that I can recall) and a tiny blurb about them. Moreover, unlike speed-dating or meeting someone in a club I will tell you which one will turn out to be a Republican, 7th Day Adventist, or Journey fan before you're trapped in a restaurant.
DON'T READ:
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell- don't read- too long, for what you get out of it- could have great- but wasn't.
READ:
Partly Cloudy Patriot- non-fiction essay collection about America
Dress Your Family in corduroy and Denim- non-fiction essay collection about the author's childhood
Faith of My Fathers- account of the John McCains' (1, 2, and 3) military careers, focusing mainly on his time in a POW camp in Vietnam.
Freakonomics- an economist addresses various issues using his economics background to justify counter-intuitive arguments
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time- a fictional story about an autistic teen who is writing a book about solving the mystery of a dog's murder
Harry Potter 6- very well written and truer to life than the series has been in the last few books.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
the worst thing I've had in my mouth... lately
Starbucks Green Tea Frappuccino Blended Crème, you are an abomination. You are a beverage abortion. When I asked the Barista if you were "vile," she gave me not even the tiniest of clues that you would violate my tongue in that fashion. You started with a peculiar vanilla-like taste, then bloomed into a Fruit Stripe Gum-like strange fruity flavor, chased by a tea-like after-taste. You tasted nothing like "good," your promised attribute, nor did you taste, as I had rather hoped you would, like the green tea ice cream I used to get in Hawaii.
Starbucks Green Tea Frappuccino Blended Crème, I did not hesitate before deciding, "This time I refuse to swallow!"
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Koo Koo Kachoo Mrs. Robinson
Dear Manufacturer of the Regal Prowler Camper Trailer,
In my recent stay in one of your campers I was amazed at its level of sophistication. Built in TV antenna, surround sound, and a microwave; your camper may be nicer than my apartment! Your ingenious storage solutions put my Ikea and Storable products to shame. However, I have a design suggestion that will revolutionize the camper trailer industry.
Imagine with me that you are a ten year old boy who has needed to pee all the way through Koopa’s Castle. Finally, having beaten two Koopa Kids, you save your game and innocently skip to bathroom.
Now imagine that you are a twenty five year old woman who, having recently come back to camp after a long hike, is enjoying the soapy solitude of a nice hot shower.
Now imagine these two events happening concurrently in one of you trailers. This brings me to my amazing design suggestion: bathroom door locks.
In my recent stay in one of your campers I was amazed at its level of sophistication. Built in TV antenna, surround sound, and a microwave; your camper may be nicer than my apartment! Your ingenious storage solutions put my Ikea and Storable products to shame. However, I have a design suggestion that will revolutionize the camper trailer industry.
Imagine with me that you are a ten year old boy who has needed to pee all the way through Koopa’s Castle. Finally, having beaten two Koopa Kids, you save your game and innocently skip to bathroom.
Now imagine that you are a twenty five year old woman who, having recently come back to camp after a long hike, is enjoying the soapy solitude of a nice hot shower.
Now imagine these two events happening concurrently in one of you trailers. This brings me to my amazing design suggestion: bathroom door locks.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Good morning Starshine, The Earth says, "Hello."
Went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with my friend Loren last night. The movie was excellent. Though my favorite part was the coming attractions- not that the creators of the offending movie trailer deserved any credit for it. The movie trailer was for Must Love Dogs, another romantic comedy in the tradition of… well I can’t remember any of their titles, since they blew, but rest assured if you watched anything with Kate Hudson, John Cusack, or Meg Ryan from the past 10 years, this will be the same, but with dogs. In fact it uses that same Natalie Cole song, This Will Be (an Everlasting Love) that has been used in at least 3 movies I can think of off the top of my head (Parent Trap, Charlie’s Angels, While You Were Sleeping).
Anyway, the trailer opens up with a single lady in her mid-late 30’s at the butcher shop….
Lady: One chicken breast please.
Butcher: You know they are much cheaper if you buy two.
Lady: I am pathetic and single and don’t want excess meat loitering around my fridge reminding me of my pitiful lonely life. I have a career, good friends, and interesting hobbies, but without a man I am nothing. (Fit of Hysteria) I just wish I had a sister/female friend/plot device to alleviate this….
Butcher: I’d pork ya. (ok, that wasn’t in the trailer- but that would have actually been funny.)
New montage of the sister/friend/plot device putting the lady on the internet and the lady getting mad action—action from men who apparently love dogs. Including John Cusack who, wait for it, doesn’t have a dog. But who cares about the “plot,” let’s get to the funny part. So the last scene of the trailer shows the s/f/p popping over to the lady’s house to drop off meat and yelling to the lady from the kitchen, wait for it, without knowing John Cusack is there….
S/F/P: Lady, I brought over extra meat for you to share with all of your new men.
S/F/P comes out of kitchen inexplicably holding the packs of meat. Sees John Cusack and freezes in fright. (No, he really isn’t aging well, is he?)
John Cusack: Can I have my meat now?
Lady Behind Me in the Movie Theater: Cause I’ll be giving you the meat later.
yo ho ho and about 5 bottles of rum
Pirate Party Pics Part 1
Melody gets back at Mebbie's comrade in arms, Scurvy
Jen threatening Q
Mark and Jen
Sarah shows Winston and Amine who's boss
Q and Addy
RAWWWRRRRR
Mebbie in a fit of rage attacks Addy's superior breast.
Loren, Mebbie and my fridge
Loren attacking Czarina attacking an apple
Emily, Yan, Matt, Luka, Q
and the top of Kelly's head
"Mad Eye" Mebbie and Scurvy the Flying Rat
Johanna and Loren. Arms courtesy of Steve and Monica
Johanna, Loren, and Steve "Bilbo" Powell
Melody gets back at Mebbie's comrade in arms, Scurvy
Jen threatening Q
Mark and Jen
Sarah shows Winston and Amine who's boss
Q and Addy
RAWWWRRRRR
Mebbie in a fit of rage attacks Addy's superior breast.
Loren, Mebbie and my fridge
Loren attacking Czarina attacking an apple
Emily, Yan, Matt, Luka, Q
and the top of Kelly's head"Mad Eye" Mebbie and Scurvy the Flying Rat
Johanna and Loren. Arms courtesy of Steve and Monica
Johanna, Loren, and Steve "Bilbo" Powell
that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it
*WARNING: Brothers of roommate, herein may lie a vicious overshare capable of rendering you completely unable to look at your sister without thinking of her sex life. Have fun with that.
Last week in a fit of bitterness I decided to not purchase the fancy piece of kitchen equipment I had been planning to buy my roommate for her wedding. She had been acting like, well, a complete pain in my ass for the last couple months and I decided her gift would be under twenty dollars. It was then that I realized what the girl who has every imaginable kitchen gadget in the world, yet can’t make pasta would need: nothing. Let’s be honest, who are weddings for? How about the wedding registry items? How many guys care about their dishware? You know who is getting all the gifts? My roommate. Poor fiancé didn’t get anything, so I decided to get him the one thing he would actually want: a sex life.
Having never had sex before, my roommate was justifiably nervous and knowing her, if sex was uncomfortable, her poor husband would never be allowed to touch her with “that thing” again. I figured the best way for me to ensure that the poor guy got to have sex twice was to discuss lubrication with my roommate.
Eeep! That being utterly impossible I decided to just buy her a nice bottle of lube and assume she was innocently unaware of such things. Yet lube is scary stuff sometimes… have you seen a bottle of AstroGlide? “Now in Cherry Flavor!” Incidentally, does that bug anyone else? Cherry?!? Flavor??? Anyway, I brow-beat a friend of a friend into accompanying me to the XXX Hollywood Erotic Boutique, conveniently located two blocks north of me to purchase a bottle of their finest lube. After buying what was described to me as the “lubricant, preferred by most gay men” I noticed that lube, even in a cute ergonomically shaped bottle, could still be scary. (Don’t ask me how this friend knew statistics on homosexual lubricant preferences… but we went shoe shopping later. That’s all I am saying….)
Then it hit me: the Bedazzler. Once in a fit of drunken stupidity (known as “college”) we got wasted and were watching QVC. Well about two weeks later every imaginable infomercial product began arriving on our doorsteps. George Forman grills by the score (in complimentary colors), a food dehydrater, a phone in the shape of SpiderMan, the entire Bevis and Butthead DVD set, a chopper thingy and one top of the line Bedazzler. All returned except the DVDs which I Ebayed. I would bedazzle the bottle. Using lace and rhinestones leftover from previous craft projects I designed a total makeover for my roommy’s lube.
Unfortunately I couldn’t find my glue gun. Shrugging off that minor setback I opted to use super glue. And I swear that is how I ended up super gluing myself to that bottle of personal lubricant.
Last week in a fit of bitterness I decided to not purchase the fancy piece of kitchen equipment I had been planning to buy my roommate for her wedding. She had been acting like, well, a complete pain in my ass for the last couple months and I decided her gift would be under twenty dollars. It was then that I realized what the girl who has every imaginable kitchen gadget in the world, yet can’t make pasta would need: nothing. Let’s be honest, who are weddings for? How about the wedding registry items? How many guys care about their dishware? You know who is getting all the gifts? My roommate. Poor fiancé didn’t get anything, so I decided to get him the one thing he would actually want: a sex life.
Having never had sex before, my roommate was justifiably nervous and knowing her, if sex was uncomfortable, her poor husband would never be allowed to touch her with “that thing” again. I figured the best way for me to ensure that the poor guy got to have sex twice was to discuss lubrication with my roommate.
Eeep! That being utterly impossible I decided to just buy her a nice bottle of lube and assume she was innocently unaware of such things. Yet lube is scary stuff sometimes… have you seen a bottle of AstroGlide? “Now in Cherry Flavor!” Incidentally, does that bug anyone else? Cherry?!? Flavor??? Anyway, I brow-beat a friend of a friend into accompanying me to the XXX Hollywood Erotic Boutique, conveniently located two blocks north of me to purchase a bottle of their finest lube. After buying what was described to me as the “lubricant, preferred by most gay men” I noticed that lube, even in a cute ergonomically shaped bottle, could still be scary. (Don’t ask me how this friend knew statistics on homosexual lubricant preferences… but we went shoe shopping later. That’s all I am saying….)
Then it hit me: the Bedazzler. Once in a fit of drunken stupidity (known as “college”) we got wasted and were watching QVC. Well about two weeks later every imaginable infomercial product began arriving on our doorsteps. George Forman grills by the score (in complimentary colors), a food dehydrater, a phone in the shape of SpiderMan, the entire Bevis and Butthead DVD set, a chopper thingy and one top of the line Bedazzler. All returned except the DVDs which I Ebayed. I would bedazzle the bottle. Using lace and rhinestones leftover from previous craft projects I designed a total makeover for my roommy’s lube.
Unfortunately I couldn’t find my glue gun. Shrugging off that minor setback I opted to use super glue. And I swear that is how I ended up super gluing myself to that bottle of personal lubricant.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Viva la Revolucion!
Yesterday as I was leaving the office I heard “Pssssst. Quiana, come here.” I walked back to the receptionist’s desk and she said, “No come behind my desk.” And there she showed me her…
… secret light up flip-flops. I was too excited. She told me she got them at Wal-Mart. And my tiny pitiful world shattered.
I HATE WalMart. HATE IT. There are only 2 in the Seattle area and they are both at least 40 minutes from my house. And it’s not the travel time. It is the chaos that bugs me. People everywhere, products mixed up, children screaming and touching me with greasy salty fry-fingers. And the people are the dregs of society: red-necks, ghetto mamas, scary soccer moms who look like hookers in Winnie the Pooh t-shirts, women with ten children and their own gravitational pull. Gack. I mean sometimes at Target you pass a good looking guy who even smells nice. At WalMart everyone smells like Cheetos and pleather.
But it just so happened that I already had plans to go to Ikea with my friend Monica (I HATE IKEA) (HATE HATE HATE IT) and since they are both in Renton I could combine my sorrows into one trip. I hate Ikea’s crowded chaos, unpronounceably named items, and fiendishly irritating radio-spokesman. Nasty twenty something couples guarding the furniture as though you might steal it, nose picking Gymboree children, women with cheekbones and arms like boiled chicken explaining to their children at great length why mommy doesn’t want them to stand on furniture with their shoes on: they are all standing IN THE ISLE. You know why you don’t stand on furniture with your shoes on, Junior? Because the furniture monster will come and eat all your shoes, including the pair your feet are in! He will gobble up your feet like gummi-bears and slurp down your shoe-laces like spaghetti.
Anyway, so I had low expectations for enjoying this excursion, but light-up flops and a new shoe storer were totally worth it. Actually, this time, Ikea was kind of fun- though it could have just been good company. In good spirits Mon and I headed towards WalMart. The one thing that I really like about WalMart is the dollar DVD bin. I collect old movies and old cartoons and they can often be found there.
So as soon as we had carefully examined every pair of flops we raided the dollar DVD bins. By far our best find was the cartoon version of the novel Animal Farm. It had the most darling little farm animals on the cover and was smack-dab in the middle of the children’s section, nestled between Betty-Boop and Bugs Bunny. I have this feeling that WalMart is probably one of the few places where nobody will notice George Orwell’s anti-Communist parable in the CHILDREN’S section.
Well, I hope the children who unknowingly pick this DVD like the part where the horsey gets sent to the glue factory so that the piggies can buy more liquor. That’s my favorite part.
Four legs, good! Two legs bad!!!
… secret light up flip-flops. I was too excited. She told me she got them at Wal-Mart. And my tiny pitiful world shattered.
I HATE WalMart. HATE IT. There are only 2 in the Seattle area and they are both at least 40 minutes from my house. And it’s not the travel time. It is the chaos that bugs me. People everywhere, products mixed up, children screaming and touching me with greasy salty fry-fingers. And the people are the dregs of society: red-necks, ghetto mamas, scary soccer moms who look like hookers in Winnie the Pooh t-shirts, women with ten children and their own gravitational pull. Gack. I mean sometimes at Target you pass a good looking guy who even smells nice. At WalMart everyone smells like Cheetos and pleather.
But it just so happened that I already had plans to go to Ikea with my friend Monica (I HATE IKEA) (HATE HATE HATE IT) and since they are both in Renton I could combine my sorrows into one trip. I hate Ikea’s crowded chaos, unpronounceably named items, and fiendishly irritating radio-spokesman. Nasty twenty something couples guarding the furniture as though you might steal it, nose picking Gymboree children, women with cheekbones and arms like boiled chicken explaining to their children at great length why mommy doesn’t want them to stand on furniture with their shoes on: they are all standing IN THE ISLE. You know why you don’t stand on furniture with your shoes on, Junior? Because the furniture monster will come and eat all your shoes, including the pair your feet are in! He will gobble up your feet like gummi-bears and slurp down your shoe-laces like spaghetti.
Anyway, so I had low expectations for enjoying this excursion, but light-up flops and a new shoe storer were totally worth it. Actually, this time, Ikea was kind of fun- though it could have just been good company. In good spirits Mon and I headed towards WalMart. The one thing that I really like about WalMart is the dollar DVD bin. I collect old movies and old cartoons and they can often be found there.
So as soon as we had carefully examined every pair of flops we raided the dollar DVD bins. By far our best find was the cartoon version of the novel Animal Farm. It had the most darling little farm animals on the cover and was smack-dab in the middle of the children’s section, nestled between Betty-Boop and Bugs Bunny. I have this feeling that WalMart is probably one of the few places where nobody will notice George Orwell’s anti-Communist parable in the CHILDREN’S section.
Well, I hope the children who unknowingly pick this DVD like the part where the horsey gets sent to the glue factory so that the piggies can buy more liquor. That’s my favorite part.
Four legs, good! Two legs bad!!!
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Oompa loompa doompity do, I've got another puzzle for you...
Yesterday on NPR a man called in and asked the producer of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory if Johnny Depp's portrayal of Willy Wonka was intentionally Michael Jackson-esque. The producer defended Depp with the following:
"Now Michael Jackson really likes and has always really liked children. Willy Wonka doesn't like children at all."
Oh I see, that is the critical difference. Phew, I was kind of upset.
Don't worry Willy Wonka is just a flamboyantly dressed semi-gender-neutral soft-spoken unattached reclusive millionaire megalomaniac who lives in a theme park with unusual pets and occasionally invites children over with ulterior motives. See everyone, Willy Wonka is absolutely nothing like Michael Jackson.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Howdy Neighbor, Nice Titties
Well neighbor, I couldn’t help but notice the porn you had on your giant TV last Saturday night. Do you have HD TV, because the picture was super clear? I was totally surprised when they built a luxury condo building a block from the projects, and so close to our windows- a mere building away. The line of sight into your living room totally rocks. I can see your living room from my living room, dining room, kitchen and roommate’s bedroom. She’s a lucky dog! I see you like girl on girl action. Yea, I can understand that, if I had a penis I wouldn’t want to watch someone else’s penis either.
I admit, we were mooching your TV last Saturday. I hope that wasn’t one of those pay-per view porns; I would feel totally unethical watching porn without contributing to the fee. And it wasn’t just me, it was a bunch of my friends too. You see, we were having a party, kind of a big one, actually. The whole party was having a great time trying to figure out what was happening over there. Were you alone? We wanted to invite you over, but we didn’t know how to get you to look out your window. Probably pretty hard to turn away from that, isn’t it? We couldn’t see you, but we figured a sly dog like you probably had a bunch of honeys over-- after all you must have good credit to have such a big TV, and your lamp is pretty sweet too.
Anyway, we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. Our new across the hall neighbors only brought us some smelly candles, but you brought us oral sex. That’s so thoughtful of you.
I admit, we were mooching your TV last Saturday. I hope that wasn’t one of those pay-per view porns; I would feel totally unethical watching porn without contributing to the fee. And it wasn’t just me, it was a bunch of my friends too. You see, we were having a party, kind of a big one, actually. The whole party was having a great time trying to figure out what was happening over there. Were you alone? We wanted to invite you over, but we didn’t know how to get you to look out your window. Probably pretty hard to turn away from that, isn’t it? We couldn’t see you, but we figured a sly dog like you probably had a bunch of honeys over-- after all you must have good credit to have such a big TV, and your lamp is pretty sweet too.
Anyway, we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. Our new across the hall neighbors only brought us some smelly candles, but you brought us oral sex. That’s so thoughtful of you.
Thar They Blow
Dear Dr. Von Doom,
The people of Latveria would like to humbly thank you for your wonderful humanitarian works in your home country. Though we are saddened by your complete loss of accent, we will still give you one of our finely crafted extremely scary metal masks, the principal export of our tiny European nation.
Please use it in good health.
Sincerely,
The People of Latveria
The people of Latveria would like to humbly thank you for your wonderful humanitarian works in your home country. Though we are saddened by your complete loss of accent, we will still give you one of our finely crafted extremely scary metal masks, the principal export of our tiny European nation.
Please use it in good health.
Sincerely,
The People of Latveria
Dear People of Latveria,
Thank you so much for the lovely mask. It really matches the outfit you got me for Christmas last year. I will treasure it always. As you see it’s getting lots of use.
Yours truly,
Victor Von Doom
So, yea I did see Fantastic Four last Friday. Yea, it did blow, funny that you noticed it too. I can’t even manage to criticize it any more. The only parts that didn’t completely blow involved partially nude hot people (or Spandex-clad hot people).
The best part of the entire movie was when Chris Evans burned off his clothes and was hopping around in an improvised mini-skirt made from a pink ski jacket. (Picture to be posted pending my finding one.) Also, this constitutes the best Halloween costume ever for a guy with a decent body.
Fudd/Cheney 2008- not even possible
I don’t know if you remember Wayne’s World too well, but I’m with Garth; Bugs Bunny is attractive when he plays a girl bunny.
As part of my self-improvement plan I’ve been trying to do the kind of snotty high-brow garbage that I used to indulge in during college. Yesterday I went to the symphony. It is called Bugs Bunny on Broadway; a performance that centers around Warner Brothers cartoons from the 30’s through the 50’s. They show cartoons on a giant screen and play the audio tracks (minus the music), while the orchestra plays the music. You’ve never seen a real symphony until you’ve seen a full orchestra playing Wagner, in front of a 15 foot tall Elmer Fudd yelling “Kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit!”
Cartoons and live music, nothing is better than that, well… maybe liquor and comics. The show itself was amazing. I don’t remember when I’ve laughed so hard. It was wonderful to see the wide range of people attracted to this show. It was especially funny when the conductor made the most interesting point:
You never see Elmer Fudd and Dick Cheney in the same room:
Thursday, July 07, 2005
I am too a patriot you fat yuppie breeder
Mommy, what’s a patriot?
Well, Bobby, a patriot is someone who puts a yellow ribbon on the back of their car and defends everything the president does and says, because he’s our President and thus completely infallible!
Now, in answer to the unasked question, Dear Readers, yes, I have finally had it with the post 9/11 patriotism extravaganza. No, fat yuppie breeder at work, I will not buy a magnetic ribbon proclaiming that I support troops for my American Vehicle. Why? Well, since I have to work with you I will tell you that I think bumper stickers are tacky and ineffective. Which is true. However, fat yuppie breeder at work, the honest to God truth is that I am not actively supporting troops. I’m not. I have not sent one letter, one cookie, or one piece of body armor to any troops at all. I have allowed many to buy me beer and firmly believe that they would get laid (which they didn’t), does that count? I think that’s incredibly supportive of me.
In fact I am super-supportive of lots of things:
Things I support:
Abortion Rights
10 Commandments where ever the hell people feel like throwing them
Several comic book companies
Right to Die/euthanasia
The liquor makers of the world
Fiscal conservatism
The Democratic Party (although I’m quite frankly at a loss as to why at this point)
Death Penalty
Stem-cell research
The Boys and Girls Club
Indian gaming
Gay marriage
Public Radio
PAWS
Books for Crooks (reading materials for inmates)
Public Television
Local stores and bands whenever possible
It’s not that I want to be unsupportive, or that I lack the desire to send letters of comfort and support to our troops. I appreciate the work that our military does. I am not a peace-monger. I would love to support the troops, but somehow I feel that your magnetic ribbon fails to do that. I’m also willing to put money down that you don’t support the troops at all. I’d bet that while your ribbon says "support our troops" it’s really saying: “support whatever the government says is right at the time.” I certainly don’t agree with that.
So I guess in fairness, I am a very super-unsupportive person too:
Things I do NOT support:
Chinese Magnetic Ribbon Manufacturers
Bad foreign policy
Anyone blindly
Bad fiscal policy
Jingoism
Legalization of Pot
Artificial raspberry flavoring
MFN for China
Fruitless warfare
Bovine Growth Hormone
Non-organic farming
Juvenile incarceration
Making flag burning illegal
BUT let me be clear, I am a HUGE patriot. One of the wonderful things that I love about America is the freedom. The freedom to vote, to protest, to fair trial, to hold our own religious beliefs- all without persecution- now that is some cool shit. Being a patriot is doing your duty towards your county and exercising your rights. Refusing to buy a bumper sticker that makes false claims about my beliefs does not make me unpatriotic.
Let’s look at unpatriotic acts:
Disagreeing with government policy can be unpatriotic- if the policy is constitutional.
Agreeing with government policy can be unpatriotic- if the policy is unconstitutional.
Uninformed voting is unpatriotic.
Not voting is unpatriotic.
Ruining the land or killing American people is unpatriotic.
Not paying taxes is unpatriotic.
Refusing to follow your military orders is unpatriotic.
Dodging the draft is unpatriotic.
Dodging jury duty is unpatriotic.
Quick and Dirty Patriot Quiz With Bonus Morality Questions(*):
Martin Luther King disagreed with the Government. Patriot or not? Right or Wrong*?
Susan B. Anthony disagreed with the Government. Patriot or not? Right or Wrong*?
Millions of Germans agreed with their Nazi Party led government and millions of people died. Patriots or not? Right or Wrong*?
Millions of Germans did not agree with their government Nazi Party led and did/could not stop it. Patriots or not? Right or Wrong*?
Well, that’s enough of this political nonsense for a bit (I hope). I promise I’ll be back to talking about poo, shopping, and sex starting tomorrow.
Well, Bobby, a patriot is someone who puts a yellow ribbon on the back of their car and defends everything the president does and says, because he’s our President and thus completely infallible!
Now, in answer to the unasked question, Dear Readers, yes, I have finally had it with the post 9/11 patriotism extravaganza. No, fat yuppie breeder at work, I will not buy a magnetic ribbon proclaiming that I support troops for my American Vehicle. Why? Well, since I have to work with you I will tell you that I think bumper stickers are tacky and ineffective. Which is true. However, fat yuppie breeder at work, the honest to God truth is that I am not actively supporting troops. I’m not. I have not sent one letter, one cookie, or one piece of body armor to any troops at all. I have allowed many to buy me beer and firmly believe that they would get laid (which they didn’t), does that count? I think that’s incredibly supportive of me.
In fact I am super-supportive of lots of things:
Things I support:
Abortion Rights
10 Commandments where ever the hell people feel like throwing them
Several comic book companies
Right to Die/euthanasia
The liquor makers of the world
Fiscal conservatism
The Democratic Party (although I’m quite frankly at a loss as to why at this point)
Death Penalty
Stem-cell research
The Boys and Girls Club
Indian gaming
Gay marriage
Public Radio
PAWS
Books for Crooks (reading materials for inmates)
Public Television
Local stores and bands whenever possible
It’s not that I want to be unsupportive, or that I lack the desire to send letters of comfort and support to our troops. I appreciate the work that our military does. I am not a peace-monger. I would love to support the troops, but somehow I feel that your magnetic ribbon fails to do that. I’m also willing to put money down that you don’t support the troops at all. I’d bet that while your ribbon says "support our troops" it’s really saying: “support whatever the government says is right at the time.” I certainly don’t agree with that.
So I guess in fairness, I am a very super-unsupportive person too:
Things I do NOT support:
Chinese Magnetic Ribbon Manufacturers
Bad foreign policy
Anyone blindly
Bad fiscal policy
Jingoism
Legalization of Pot
Artificial raspberry flavoring
MFN for China
Fruitless warfare
Bovine Growth Hormone
Non-organic farming
Juvenile incarceration
Making flag burning illegal
BUT let me be clear, I am a HUGE patriot. One of the wonderful things that I love about America is the freedom. The freedom to vote, to protest, to fair trial, to hold our own religious beliefs- all without persecution- now that is some cool shit. Being a patriot is doing your duty towards your county and exercising your rights. Refusing to buy a bumper sticker that makes false claims about my beliefs does not make me unpatriotic.
Let’s look at unpatriotic acts:
Disagreeing with government policy can be unpatriotic- if the policy is constitutional.
Agreeing with government policy can be unpatriotic- if the policy is unconstitutional.
Uninformed voting is unpatriotic.
Not voting is unpatriotic.
Ruining the land or killing American people is unpatriotic.
Not paying taxes is unpatriotic.
Refusing to follow your military orders is unpatriotic.
Dodging the draft is unpatriotic.
Dodging jury duty is unpatriotic.
Quick and Dirty Patriot Quiz With Bonus Morality Questions(*):
Martin Luther King disagreed with the Government. Patriot or not? Right or Wrong*?
Susan B. Anthony disagreed with the Government. Patriot or not? Right or Wrong*?
Millions of Germans agreed with their Nazi Party led government and millions of people died. Patriots or not? Right or Wrong*?
Millions of Germans did not agree with their government Nazi Party led and did/could not stop it. Patriots or not? Right or Wrong*?
Well, that’s enough of this political nonsense for a bit (I hope). I promise I’ll be back to talking about poo, shopping, and sex starting tomorrow.
how’s that war on terror thing goin’ for ya?
*WARNING* INFLAMATORY POLITICAL RANT AHEAD!!!
There’s a joke my mom used to annoy me with as a child:
A man goes to the doctor. He says to the doctor, “It hurts when I do this,” as he raises his arm. The doctor replies, “Well, don’t do that.”
Now, insert ‘reads Seattle Umbrella Conspiracy’ where it says “raises his arm” and ‘Quiana’ where it says “doctor.”
I’ve been listening to the coverage of the London bombings all morning on NPR. Finally an analyst gets on and says what every analyst has known all along: you can’t stop terrorism. You simply can’t. We can be vigilant, wary, and prepared, but people will always feel subjugated and where they feel subjugated there will be terrorism.
Anybody read, oh say the Bible? Moses and Pharaoh ring any bells? Moses makes threats and then wipes out the first born sons of both combatants and non-combatants alike. Terrorism. How about US history? Native Americans massacre a bunch of missionaries and settlers. Terrorism. How about the guys who dressed up as Indians and started destroying British property then sneaking around blowing up the law and order sent from abroad to protect the property? Funny how history picks good guys and bad guys isn’t it? We love the underdogs, until they’re blowing up our stuff.
England is used to living as a terrorist target. Anyone remember the IRA, or am I alone in this? America has a major incident of terrorism (not to be insensitive or devalue 9/11) and now all of the sudden we care about global terrorism (how about the plane hijackings of the 70’s and incident at the ’72 Olympics- I guess we didn’t care about terrorism then because it didn’t affect “us”). Just like in WW2 we sit around picking our noses completely ignoring the problem and just like then, in another “date which will live in infamy” (anyone even remember that first date o’ infamy?) we get wounded on our home territory and go in guns blazing. Except terrorism isn’t like WW2. There isn’t a field, no homeland to bomb, and no allied armies to bolster. THERE IS NO WAR TO WIN.
Just like Israel has accepted terrorism as part of daily life, so must we. Just like Israel, we have been playing hardball and now when our enemies start pushing hard we get offended. Unfortunately this is what happens when you go from being the righteous and plucky underdog to the shady global power hidden behind flowery ideals. I guess it’s tough being a hegemonic global regime. Poor us.
Luckily, being one of the wealthiest countries in the world means that we can afford expensive precautionary measures. Lord knows that policy change would be “letting terrorists win.” As we all know diplomacy doesn’t ever stop American military campaigns, except that one time in Vietnam, and that other time in Cuba, well, and that other time when we seceded from Britain.
Oh and another thing, now that I’ve brought up Vietnam…. Hey let’s do that again. Let’s get involved with another country’s civil war, by waging a largely unpopular and completely unsuccessful campaign in the enemy’s home court, until, at great length, we are forced by global and internal pressure to sign an embarrassing cease fire, with no discernable benefit for America other than making the war stop.
Chris Rock has this sketch about the Backstreet Boys, the punch line is: “Backstreet Boys? Why would you wanna do that? Didn't you see New Kids on the Block? Don't you know how this movie's gonna end?”
12/7/41
There’s a joke my mom used to annoy me with as a child:
A man goes to the doctor. He says to the doctor, “It hurts when I do this,” as he raises his arm. The doctor replies, “Well, don’t do that.”
Now, insert ‘reads Seattle Umbrella Conspiracy’ where it says “raises his arm” and ‘Quiana’ where it says “doctor.”
I’ve been listening to the coverage of the London bombings all morning on NPR. Finally an analyst gets on and says what every analyst has known all along: you can’t stop terrorism. You simply can’t. We can be vigilant, wary, and prepared, but people will always feel subjugated and where they feel subjugated there will be terrorism.
Anybody read, oh say the Bible? Moses and Pharaoh ring any bells? Moses makes threats and then wipes out the first born sons of both combatants and non-combatants alike. Terrorism. How about US history? Native Americans massacre a bunch of missionaries and settlers. Terrorism. How about the guys who dressed up as Indians and started destroying British property then sneaking around blowing up the law and order sent from abroad to protect the property? Funny how history picks good guys and bad guys isn’t it? We love the underdogs, until they’re blowing up our stuff.
England is used to living as a terrorist target. Anyone remember the IRA, or am I alone in this? America has a major incident of terrorism (not to be insensitive or devalue 9/11) and now all of the sudden we care about global terrorism (how about the plane hijackings of the 70’s and incident at the ’72 Olympics- I guess we didn’t care about terrorism then because it didn’t affect “us”). Just like in WW2 we sit around picking our noses completely ignoring the problem and just like then, in another “date which will live in infamy” (anyone even remember that first date o’ infamy?) we get wounded on our home territory and go in guns blazing. Except terrorism isn’t like WW2. There isn’t a field, no homeland to bomb, and no allied armies to bolster. THERE IS NO WAR TO WIN.
Just like Israel has accepted terrorism as part of daily life, so must we. Just like Israel, we have been playing hardball and now when our enemies start pushing hard we get offended. Unfortunately this is what happens when you go from being the righteous and plucky underdog to the shady global power hidden behind flowery ideals. I guess it’s tough being a hegemonic global regime. Poor us.
Luckily, being one of the wealthiest countries in the world means that we can afford expensive precautionary measures. Lord knows that policy change would be “letting terrorists win.” As we all know diplomacy doesn’t ever stop American military campaigns, except that one time in Vietnam, and that other time in Cuba, well, and that other time when we seceded from Britain.
Oh and another thing, now that I’ve brought up Vietnam…. Hey let’s do that again. Let’s get involved with another country’s civil war, by waging a largely unpopular and completely unsuccessful campaign in the enemy’s home court, until, at great length, we are forced by global and internal pressure to sign an embarrassing cease fire, with no discernable benefit for America other than making the war stop.
Chris Rock has this sketch about the Backstreet Boys, the punch line is: “Backstreet Boys? Why would you wanna do that? Didn't you see New Kids on the Block? Don't you know how this movie's gonna end?”
12/7/41
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Married Man At Work, You Suck at Adultery
One would think that inviting me out for drinks after work, only to have me tell you I am busy every time would become discouraging after 2 YEARS. I understand tenacity. As a child I played Castlevania until I kicked that vampire’s evil undead ass, even though it took me weeks and weeks. But Married Man At Work, your determination to trick me into an adulterous relationship with you is quite inspiring.
However, I think that the effort which you so recently put into leaning on my desk and peering down my shirt could be put towards, oh I don’t know, your work…. Here is a list of thoughts that I'd love to put up on the server:
1. You are not that good looking anymore. While I am sure you were dead sexy in your twenties, now you are in your early 40’s and you’ve turned into a kinda pudgy dad type with an eerily trendy haircut. While I’m sure you used to bat in the majors you were booted back to the minors some time ago.
2. Quit showing me pictures of your adorable daughters in a ploy to make me like you more. Good daddies don’t sleep with girls from work behind mommies backs. I’d hate for your youngest daughter’s first sentence to include the phrases “lying cheating sack of shit” or “stupid whore.”
3. If you are trying to get a girl drunk don’t tell her in advance that you are going to “drink her under the table.”
4. Telling me that I can crash at your place if I get "wasted" because “the wife is out of town,” tipped me off to your questionable intentions fairly early on.
5. While from your perspective as a 40 something year old man I am a wee naïve little doe of 24, in reality, I am a grown woman. I am actually worldly and intelligent enough to figure out what you are up to. Additionally, such phrases as “if I was your age” do tend to highlight the two decade age difference.
6. You suck at your job. You do. We have the SAME JOB and I am 24. And I do it better than you do. If we worked in the private sector, you’d be fired for incompetence. I’m looking for a guy who is diligent and hardworking. The kind of man that if we were married and I lost my job or got pregnant could support his family.
7. I’m pretty sure that you’ve noticed that there are only 5 attractive women under 35 in the office. Of course I’m only sure of this because the 5 of us enjoy commiserating about having to deal with you all the time. Has it honestly never occurred to you that in addition to sexual services, women’s mouths can be used to speak to each other?
8. You’re married. You even wear a ring; way to not be sneaky! While I am not focused on getting married anytime soon, I’d like to only date men that I COULD marry. You know if I fell in love with them, and the sex was good, and they asked.
9. Clearly, you are dishonest. I’m sure when your surprisingly pretty wife asks what you did today you don’t tell her you spent about ten minutes looking down my shirt and begging me to hang out with you. I prefer honest men, the kind that only lie when I ask them if I look fat in these pants.
10. I think I may be smarter than you. You can't even get your adulterous relationship started, something that 50% the Simple Life watching married idiots of America can manage. You don’t read and I know for a fact that you watch Survivor. You didn’t vote in the last election, even though the funding for your program was on the ballot. I like smart men. If a man can discuss foreign policy, history, literature, indie music, and the Fantastic Four, I will pretty much jump him. Hell, if he can discuss even two of those things I'd still jump him.
So, to conclude, I will NEVER hang out with you because you are boring, old, dishonest, not terribly bright, and incompetent. I will never touch you because you are MARRIED- even if you weren’t married, you are still dishonest, boring, old, ugly, incompetent, and not terribly bright. I’m also not stupid enough to sleep with someone from work or slutty enough to sleep with a virtual stranger. The closest I would ever come to touching you would be if the next time you looked down my shirt you got too excited and had a heart attack and someone needed to flip over your body to check for your pulse. And even then I would have reservations.
However, I think that the effort which you so recently put into leaning on my desk and peering down my shirt could be put towards, oh I don’t know, your work…. Here is a list of thoughts that I'd love to put up on the server:
1. You are not that good looking anymore. While I am sure you were dead sexy in your twenties, now you are in your early 40’s and you’ve turned into a kinda pudgy dad type with an eerily trendy haircut. While I’m sure you used to bat in the majors you were booted back to the minors some time ago.
2. Quit showing me pictures of your adorable daughters in a ploy to make me like you more. Good daddies don’t sleep with girls from work behind mommies backs. I’d hate for your youngest daughter’s first sentence to include the phrases “lying cheating sack of shit” or “stupid whore.”
3. If you are trying to get a girl drunk don’t tell her in advance that you are going to “drink her under the table.”
4. Telling me that I can crash at your place if I get "wasted" because “the wife is out of town,” tipped me off to your questionable intentions fairly early on.
5. While from your perspective as a 40 something year old man I am a wee naïve little doe of 24, in reality, I am a grown woman. I am actually worldly and intelligent enough to figure out what you are up to. Additionally, such phrases as “if I was your age” do tend to highlight the two decade age difference.
6. You suck at your job. You do. We have the SAME JOB and I am 24. And I do it better than you do. If we worked in the private sector, you’d be fired for incompetence. I’m looking for a guy who is diligent and hardworking. The kind of man that if we were married and I lost my job or got pregnant could support his family.
7. I’m pretty sure that you’ve noticed that there are only 5 attractive women under 35 in the office. Of course I’m only sure of this because the 5 of us enjoy commiserating about having to deal with you all the time. Has it honestly never occurred to you that in addition to sexual services, women’s mouths can be used to speak to each other?
8. You’re married. You even wear a ring; way to not be sneaky! While I am not focused on getting married anytime soon, I’d like to only date men that I COULD marry. You know if I fell in love with them, and the sex was good, and they asked.
9. Clearly, you are dishonest. I’m sure when your surprisingly pretty wife asks what you did today you don’t tell her you spent about ten minutes looking down my shirt and begging me to hang out with you. I prefer honest men, the kind that only lie when I ask them if I look fat in these pants.
10. I think I may be smarter than you. You can't even get your adulterous relationship started, something that 50% the Simple Life watching married idiots of America can manage. You don’t read and I know for a fact that you watch Survivor. You didn’t vote in the last election, even though the funding for your program was on the ballot. I like smart men. If a man can discuss foreign policy, history, literature, indie music, and the Fantastic Four, I will pretty much jump him. Hell, if he can discuss even two of those things I'd still jump him.
So, to conclude, I will NEVER hang out with you because you are boring, old, dishonest, not terribly bright, and incompetent. I will never touch you because you are MARRIED- even if you weren’t married, you are still dishonest, boring, old, ugly, incompetent, and not terribly bright. I’m also not stupid enough to sleep with someone from work or slutty enough to sleep with a virtual stranger. The closest I would ever come to touching you would be if the next time you looked down my shirt you got too excited and had a heart attack and someone needed to flip over your body to check for your pulse. And even then I would have reservations.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
breaking up is hard to do
Dear Cow,
Sure, we had our day in the sun. Yesterday I felt magically transformed by your sassy top sirloin and the sexy bacon burger and kabobs that followed. Perfectly cooked and well seasoned, you were a beautiful thing to behold. But come evening, where was the blissful feeling of satisfaction? Where were you, Cow, as I rolled around in agony? Were you there to hold my hand, Cow, or was that you assaulting my digestive system?
I know it’s hard for you to understand; but last night I watched Club Dread and realized that the intense nausea and stomach pain wasn’t just the most obvious side-effect of watching that movie; but in fact was you, Cow. As I lay there feeling as though you might erupt from my stomach Pinatubo style—I knew it was over.
I can’t deny that I’m attracted to you, and I know there will be times when I come running back for a cheeseburger during happy hour or a tiny filet mignon wrapped in succulent bacon on a date; but Cow, you and I are through.
I’m sorry to hurt you this way and I hope you understand that I’m doing this for the both of us.
Be strong for me, Cow.
q.
Dear Pig,
I know you’re upset about these rumors you may have heard, and you have every right to be upset. But that thing with Cow, that meant nothing to me. Cow is nothing to you Pig. I guess I was just confused- this Cow did come with bacon. Really it was the bacon that convinced me to have the Cow in the first place. You know I lose all control around bacon. When I was with Cow, all I could think of was you, Pig. I know it will be a while before you can forgive me, but I think things can go back to the way they were. I know I may have lost your trust, but I’ve got a twice baked potato and nice spinach salad at my place if you want to come over tonight, and I swear I’ll make it up to you….
With Undying Affection,
q.
Sure, we had our day in the sun. Yesterday I felt magically transformed by your sassy top sirloin and the sexy bacon burger and kabobs that followed. Perfectly cooked and well seasoned, you were a beautiful thing to behold. But come evening, where was the blissful feeling of satisfaction? Where were you, Cow, as I rolled around in agony? Were you there to hold my hand, Cow, or was that you assaulting my digestive system?
I know it’s hard for you to understand; but last night I watched Club Dread and realized that the intense nausea and stomach pain wasn’t just the most obvious side-effect of watching that movie; but in fact was you, Cow. As I lay there feeling as though you might erupt from my stomach Pinatubo style—I knew it was over.
I can’t deny that I’m attracted to you, and I know there will be times when I come running back for a cheeseburger during happy hour or a tiny filet mignon wrapped in succulent bacon on a date; but Cow, you and I are through.
I’m sorry to hurt you this way and I hope you understand that I’m doing this for the both of us.
Be strong for me, Cow.
q.
Dear Pig,
I know you’re upset about these rumors you may have heard, and you have every right to be upset. But that thing with Cow, that meant nothing to me. Cow is nothing to you Pig. I guess I was just confused- this Cow did come with bacon. Really it was the bacon that convinced me to have the Cow in the first place. You know I lose all control around bacon. When I was with Cow, all I could think of was you, Pig. I know it will be a while before you can forgive me, but I think things can go back to the way they were. I know I may have lost your trust, but I’ve got a twice baked potato and nice spinach salad at my place if you want to come over tonight, and I swear I’ll make it up to you….
With Undying Affection,
q.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Damn it! Say MY name, bitch.
I understand that I have a difficult to pronounce name, and if you mispronounce it, I will POLITELY correct you. But people seem incapable of even mispronouncing my name. It is apparently so traumatic to the average individual that they will change my name to an entirely different name.
Example 1: Scene- My cube, I am typing and a man approaches.
Man: I’m looking for Juanita.
Me: visibly cringing with the inward knowledge that I will turn out to be Juanita. There isn’t a Juanita in this department; but what do you need help with?
Man: Project of Doom paperwork.
Me: I handle that paperwork, my name is QUIANA. (pronounced quite clearly)
Man: Well, Juanita...
Example 2: I sent a letter to a woman asking her to properly fill out her Project of Doom paperwork (which I returned with instructions for completion—including the instruction “please sign on the line that says ‘signature’”).
The letter and incomplete paperwork came back:
Dear Susan, I am certain that I filled out this paperwork completely and correctly in spite of my lack of reading comprehension skills. Please go to a lot of effort to prove me wrong even though I can’t manage to read your name off of the memo upon which it was TYPED. PS- I make more money than you do in spite of the fact that I am a complete idiot. How’s that $120,000 education treating you, fatty?
SUSAN?! SUSAN?!!!!
Damn it all to hell.
I’ve even started going by the name my family calls me: KIKI. You would think Kiki would be a cute and simple name, but no.
Example 3: Today at Starbucks
Me: May I have a Grande Nonfat Chai Latte? Thanks.
Barista 1: Your name?
Me: Kiki
Barista 1: What?
Me: Kiki, K I K I.
Barista: ok
Later:
Barista 2: “drink up for uhm, kih, whatever, grande nonfat chai.”
So which should I go by ‘uhm,’ ‘whatever,’ ‘kih,’ ‘grande,’ ‘nonfat’ (blatant false advertising), or ‘chai?’ ‘Chai’ has its appeal, it is pseudo ethnic sounding at least.
Example 4:
Now, today I discovered a cool new art website/web comic:
http://www.chrisyates.net/reprographics/
I liked it A LOT, so I sent him a very brief ‘good stuff’ type email. He replied:
I appreciate your kind words, Colleen. I aim to please.
-Chris
WHAT?! Colleen?!? Damn you Chris, don't please this Colleen person. PLEASE ME.
WAIT, AM I COLLEEN?!?!
I signed the email “q.” which would be very not how you spell Colleen. Oh don’t worry, I know he got it from the poetry that I use as a ‘signature’ at the end of my emails:
On days when she smelled like a muffin, he found her cute and charming. He'd say,
"You smell like a muffin." He'd say, "Muffin Head."
On days when she didn't smell like a muffin, he wasn't sure he loved her at all.
Muffin Head by Colleen Marlow
I guess it could have been worse, he could have thought my name was Muffin Head.
Example 1: Scene- My cube, I am typing and a man approaches.
Man: I’m looking for Juanita.
Me: visibly cringing with the inward knowledge that I will turn out to be Juanita. There isn’t a Juanita in this department; but what do you need help with?
Man: Project of Doom paperwork.
Me: I handle that paperwork, my name is QUIANA. (pronounced quite clearly)
Man: Well, Juanita...
Example 2: I sent a letter to a woman asking her to properly fill out her Project of Doom paperwork (which I returned with instructions for completion—including the instruction “please sign on the line that says ‘signature’”).
The letter and incomplete paperwork came back:
Dear Susan, I am certain that I filled out this paperwork completely and correctly in spite of my lack of reading comprehension skills. Please go to a lot of effort to prove me wrong even though I can’t manage to read your name off of the memo upon which it was TYPED. PS- I make more money than you do in spite of the fact that I am a complete idiot. How’s that $120,000 education treating you, fatty?
SUSAN?! SUSAN?!!!!
Damn it all to hell.
I’ve even started going by the name my family calls me: KIKI. You would think Kiki would be a cute and simple name, but no.
Example 3: Today at Starbucks
Me: May I have a Grande Nonfat Chai Latte? Thanks.
Barista 1: Your name?
Me: Kiki
Barista 1: What?
Me: Kiki, K I K I.
Barista: ok
Later:
Barista 2: “drink up for uhm, kih, whatever, grande nonfat chai.”
So which should I go by ‘uhm,’ ‘whatever,’ ‘kih,’ ‘grande,’ ‘nonfat’ (blatant false advertising), or ‘chai?’ ‘Chai’ has its appeal, it is pseudo ethnic sounding at least.
Example 4:
Now, today I discovered a cool new art website/web comic:
http://www.chrisyates.net/reprographics/
I liked it A LOT, so I sent him a very brief ‘good stuff’ type email. He replied:
I appreciate your kind words, Colleen. I aim to please.
-Chris
WHAT?! Colleen?!? Damn you Chris, don't please this Colleen person. PLEASE ME.
WAIT, AM I COLLEEN?!?!
I signed the email “q.” which would be very not how you spell Colleen. Oh don’t worry, I know he got it from the poetry that I use as a ‘signature’ at the end of my emails:
On days when she smelled like a muffin, he found her cute and charming. He'd say,
"You smell like a muffin." He'd say, "Muffin Head."
On days when she didn't smell like a muffin, he wasn't sure he loved her at all.
Muffin Head by Colleen Marlow
I guess it could have been worse, he could have thought my name was Muffin Head.
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